


Two Words

by earthsgayestdefender



Category: HSS Prime, High School Story (Visual Novel), Pixelberry Games, Pixelberry Studios
Genre: Christmas fic, F/M, Humor, Romance, Some angst, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wes is there for a bit lmao, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 22:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17313146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthsgayestdefender/pseuds/earthsgayestdefender
Summary: Max Warren and Fisher Price-McDonald are sworn rivals. But the holiday season has a way of making the fiercest of enemies call a truce - and even join forces to put the star on top of the Christmas tree.





	Two Words

**Author's Note:**

> (dec 2015): A very merry Christmas to my gift recipient, the lovely happimorning!! Apologies for any OOC-ness or inaccuracies in the fic. I don’t think I followed the prompt exactly, so apologise for that too. Regardless, I hope you like it :) Happy Holidays <3
> 
> (jan 2019): So I decided to post my old works from Tumblr to here jic they'd get lost in the purge. regardless, i hope it's still enjoyable now, 4 years later uwu

Tradition, in Max Warren’s very modest opinion, was a double-edged blade.

Sometimes, it had served him well; take the customs at Hearst for example. It was tradition that the star player of the football team ( _and_  most handsome, popular guy in school  _and_  son of the principal) would be privy to favors such as an uplifted social status and an exit pass that allowed him to escape the horrors of Meatloaf Mondays in the canteen.

Christmas was one tradition he usually looked forward to every year — the presents he received, the jovial atmosphere, and the freedom to throw snowballs at random losers never failed to put a smile on his face.

This year, however, was different. This year, Max learned that tradition could easily turn around and bite him in the ass. One prime example of this was the fact that he, along with other key figures selected by the District Council and subsequent volunteers, were obligated to set up for the annual Inter-School Christmas Party. (Somewhere, in a not-so-distant Prep Hangout, a dark-skinned girl in a lavender dress gets the sudden urge to squeal.)

The party was set in a gigantic pavilion which was normally reserved for District assemblies, but tonight, it would host a variety of students from Hearst, Athena, Kepler,  _her_  school, and, uh… the other schools that weren’t worth Max’s time.

Usually, you could count on the King of Hearst to host a dankass party, but  _usually_ _,_  Max wasn’t the one setting up.

 _Hell, that’s what servants were for_ , Max thought, a small frown creasing his lips.

But _nooo,_ this was all part of some cheap tactic to make students from other schools come together to forge friendships in the spirit of the season or some other sentimental crap that the District Council spewed when they wanted children to do menial labor for them.

Max thought that he could be out in the snow right now; he could be playing pranks on hapless twerps or be chilling with his bros. Instead, he was here, lifting box after box of decorations, hanging up a strings of fairy lights and occasionally munching on the provisions on the buffet table. (Okay, so that part wasn’t  _bad_  per se, but the circumstances regarding this situation made it impossible for Max to fully enjoy those cute human-shaped gingerbread cookies.

…Pretend that thought never crossed his mind.)

Oddly shaped desserts aside, the menial labor wasn’t even the biggest downer of the evening.

It was the fact that Father was disappointed in him.

Two nights ago, Father had told Max that he had to do whatever the District Council required of him; he had to do whatever it took to get into their good graces and uphold the Warren reputation.

And Max couldn’t say no to Father, not after the downfall of Hearst aka the event where  _she_  exposed the school of corruption and caused a sizable portion of the student body, including Mia, to transfer. While Max did his best to redeem the school by winning various sports-related competitions, the seed of doubt had been planted. Hearst would never regain its former glorious reputation.

Although none of it was technically Max’s fault, it was hard not to feel ashamed. Father had looked down at him then, and up until now, his deep voice echoed in Max’s head,  _Do not disappoint me_. ( _Not like Mia_ , went the unspoken part of his sentence, and Max fought the urge to grimace.)

Although Father was a thousand miles away in Milan right now, Max could still feel the weight of his expectant gaze.

He felt it weighing him down; and each box he carried seemed to hold a greater weight as if it too was disappointed in him.

* * *

From her perch at the buffet table, Fisher could see Max mechanically sorting boxes of decorations. She munched on the head of a gingerbread man, a crease appearing between her brows.

All afternoon long, Max had acted strangely… aloof. Not that Fisher expected (or wanted) him to act all buddy-buddy around her, but it was unsettling to see Max Warren just standing there and  _not_ obnoxiously bugging her or something—

“Stare at him longer if you want, but I’m pretty he’s not going to turn into stone any time soon,” came a sudden voice near her ear.

Most people would shriek in terror or jump up in surprise. But then again, most people weren’t friends with Wes.

“Iwaffntstarinafhim,” Fisher tried to reply through a mouthful of gingerbread. What came out was an incoherent jumble of words and cookie crumbs. Fisher swallowed, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tried again. “I wasn’t staring at him.”

She really wasn’t, though. Fisher had just happened to sight him from the corner of her eye, is all.

Wes shot her a skeptical look which Fisher was determined to ignore.

Eventually Wes sighed and moved in a little closer. “Look, Fisher, if Max did anything did anything to you,” he began in an urgent tone that did nothing to hide his worry, “you know you can tell me, right?”

Fisher smiled, warmth blossoming in her chest. The feeling was oddly reminiscent of all the times she had blushed in Wes’ presence when she liked him; at the same time, it was nothing like it. Crush or no crush, his concern was touching.

“Aw, Wes!” She playfully punched his shoulder. “You’re so sweet! But really, I’m fine. Actually, Max hasn’t talked to me yet.”  _Or even glanced in my general direction_ , Fisher thought, the pleasant warmth in her chest fading away until only confusion and vexation at Max remained.

“It just doesn’t add up,” she muttered, looking around to see Max start to hang some decors on the Christmas tree in the middle of the pavilion. He moved so robotically, and his somber expression looked out of place in such a bright atmosphere.

Something plucked at Fisher’s heartstrings. It just wasn’t right to be hanging up Christmas balls with that kind of seriousness.

“Max is usually very in-your-face and annoying as hell, but now he’s just…”

_Quiet. Lonely. Sad._

“…Not.” Fisher turned back to see Wes rubbing the place where she had hit him. “What do you think?”

“I think that you should do what you think is best,” Wes answered, knowing that he probably couldn’t talk her out of whatever she was planning to do next. He turned his attention to the buffet table. “If you think that involves actually  _talking_  to him or shoving gingerbread down his throat until he feels the spirit of Christmas, then by all means, go for it.”

“Wes, that’s a great idea!” Fisher started grinning. A manic light shone in her eyes.

Wes’ hand froze on its descent to the plate of gingerbread cookies. Carefully, he peered up at her. “…It is?”

“Hell yeah!” She punched her right palm with her left fist, the utter picture of determination. “I’ll use cookies and Christmas to  _make_  Max feel happy, so he won’t spoil the rest of the evening for everyone else! It’s perfect! You always have such great plans, Wes.”

“Uh,” Wes said eloquently, torn between telling her that he had been joking, taking the compliment or taking a gingerbread man. But before he could make a decision, Fisher took the platter of cookies and dashed away, humming a cheery tune.

Sighing, Wes turned to the refreshments table to sample the eggnog instead.

* * *

After he finished hanging the rest of the Christmas decors on the tree, Max decided to take a break.

He pulled out a plastic chair and sat near the side of the room. The day had taken a toll on him; physically speaking, he was okay, but his emotional state was another story.

He  _really_  didn’t want anyone to bother him right now.

 _She_  didn’t seem to give a damn about what he wanted.

People gave her a wide berth as she approached, but even if they hadn’t parted around her like the Red Sea, Max would recognize that red hair anywhere.

Max could do nothing but stare as Fisher approached. With her head held high and a wide grin stretching across her pretty face, Fisher was practically swaggering over to Max’s direction.

Which was a bit conflicting for Max. On one hand, he was one hundred percent  _done_  right now and so not in the mood for a battle of wits. (Even though he had nothing to worry about because Max usually won those.)

On the other hand, Fisher was  _Fisher_. She was a thorn in Hearst’s side, but in spite of everything, there was some part of Max that couldn’t help but be intrigued by her. Max was reluctant to admit it, but Fisher had beaten him (and the school) a fair number of times during sports competitions and other, less important non-sports competitions—and each time, he was determined to pay her back.

Fisher was confident, determined and stubborn to a fault. She was unpredictable and… challenging. No one provoked Max as effectively as she did. Each time she beat him, he was determined to be  _better._ In fact, Max had been performing better than he ever had in years since he had met her.

It was strange to think how Max was so affected by a girl who created a school in an empty parking lot.

While Max was busy ruminating, Fisher had taken the opportunity to sit on the chair beside him. It was very same chair he was going to use to prop his feet up.

Max opened his mouth, prepared to tell her off with a pithy quip that was sure to leave Fisher in awe of his mental prowess.

“Want one?” Fisher thrust out a platter of ( ~~cutely~~ ) strangely-shaped gingerbread men.

Max blinked. He did not see this coming. “Yeah, su—wait,  _wait_  a minute.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you doing this? What do you want in return?”

“Nothing, actually.” Fisher shrugged, leisurely biting off the head off a gingerbread man. “But since you already offered, you could stop moping around and help me put the star up the Christmas tree.” She pointed towards the middle of the pavilion.

There, the ten-foot tall pine tree proudly stood, the various lights and ornaments that Max had helped put up gleamed as they hung from its evergreen branches. It was a sight to behold, but it seemed to be bereft of something very shiny and very important.

Max didn’t give a shit. Putting the star on top of the tree was a tradition he had deemed useless, ever since Father told him he couldn’t do it anymore at the age of 13.

“Fisher, I’ve got two words for you.” Max lazily held up two fingers. “You fucking wish.” Satisfied with that devastating burn, he lowered his arm and went back to slumping in his chair.

Fisher blinked. It appeared that she was stunned by his amazing math skills. For a second, it looked like she was going to retort, but then she shrugged her shoulders and went back to devouring the gingerbread men. “Yeah, I should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to do it.”

Something in her dismissive tone made Max’s hackles rise. He sneered at her. “Sweetheart, I can help you put a  _thousand_  stars on a thousand Christmas trees any day.”  _Just. Not. Today._

Fisher scoffed, “Oh, _please_. You can’t even take this cookie from my hand.”

In the midst of his self-imposed negativity and lethargy, Max could feel the heat of anger building up in his chest. No one could tell Max Warren could and couldn’t do. No one.

He got to his feet, rising to his full height. “You wanna bet?”

“Hell yeah. Loser does whatever the winner wants.” Although he towered over Fisher as she too stood up, she looked decidedly unaffected by this. In fact, she even gave him a coy grin as she held up a gingerbread man with two fingers. “So just  _try_  and take it from me, Maxie.”

In the time that they had known each other, Max had never been able to resist her.  _Taunts_ _,_  his mind amended. He could never resist her  _taunts._

His arm suddenly shot out, intending to nab the cookie from Fisher’s hands in one fell swoop. Unfortunately, Max’s hand grabbed nothing but air; he had just enough time to see Fisher put the cookie in her mouth with a flourish. She even made a big show of licking the crumbs off her fingers, a sight which Max didn’t find himself opposed to.

 _Eyes on the prize, Warren_. Max shook off his surprise and squared his shoulders. “I - I wasn’t ready! Let’s do it again.” He always played to  _win_ , even if the opposition was being distracting and even if competition was as simple as taking a cookie; it was the principle of the thing.

Grin widening, Fisher plucked another cookie from the platter she was holding and dangled it in front of Max’s face. “Go ahead and try to get it if you’re able.”

Determination hardening his features, Max reached up - only for Fisher to throw the cookie upwards and over his head. Max wasted no time. He lunged for the platter in Fisher’s hands. His fingers had barely skimmed its edges when Fisher swiftly sidestepped, moving past him. Max whirled around to see the gingerbread man falling onto the platter that Fisher had raised.

She picked up the cookie once more, tilted her head and smirked. “Ready to give up?”

Oh, it was  _on._

“I’ve got two words for you, sweetheart.” Max smirked back. “In your dreams!” As he spoke, he went on the offensive, advancing towards her. His strategy now was to hold Fisher down so he could gain unhindered access to the cookies. He moved in to grab her arms, but she ducked down low (damn his height!) and nimbly danced out of his grasp. He followed her as she evaded him time and time again. But Max was not discouraged; he knew it was only a matter of time before the cookie was his.

Somewhere along the line, the thrill of the challenge induced adrenaline in Max. His senses and awareness heightened - and soon enough, he detected an opportunity. He stuck his left leg out in the middle of Fisher’s attempts to elude him.

Swearing, she stumbled - but Max acted quickly and caught her by the wrists. The platter of gingerbread men fell to the ground, but the one in Fisher’s hand remained intact.

Seeing that victory was only a hair’s breadth away, Max lifted Fisher’s hand, the one with the cookie, and brought it to his mouth. He finished the cookie off with a single bite and savored the taste - it was almost as delicious as the look of surprise on Fisher’s face.

Her pretty face, which was actually even prettier when her cheeks were tinted almost as red as her hair.

Initially, Max thought that she was flushed from the physical exertion, but then Fisher didn’t even seem to be tired. She seemed shell shocked, her amber eyes wide as they stared at him.

No, not at him. She was staring at her hand which Max was still holding - and Max’s own eyes widened as he realised that,  _oh my god_ , her fingers were actually brushing against his lips -

“Uh, Fisher? Max? What are you guys doing?”

At the sound of Julian’s voice, they hurriedly sprang apart.

“It’s none of your business, loser,” Max bit out, trying to compose himself. His mouth felt weird (it felt  _violated_ , he told himself), and he felt warm all over. He blamed it all on the adrenaline rush from earlier. He glowered disdainfully at Julian, the art chick, and the rest of the twerpy motley crew.

Fisher, on the other hand, looked positively thrilled to see them. “Julian! Autumn!” She practically ran up to them and hugged them. She went ahead and embraced the rest of her friends.

Max rolled his eyes.

“So, Max, what are you doing here?” the preppy chick turned to him with a polite smile.

Max stared at her. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Uh, nothing?” the nerd with the mohawk endeavored to ask. He shrank under Max’s glare.

“What I mean to ask was,” the Prep said, diverting Max’s attention, “Why aren’t you with Kara? We saw her a while ago, and now we’re wondering why you weren’t with her.”

Max stared at her again.

“Kara? You know, your girlfriend?” the Nerd felt the need to pipe up. He hid behind the Prep when Max turned to look at him, and for some reason, it was more satisfying the second time around.

“ _Ex_ _-_ girlfriend.” They had broken up a little more than two weeks ago, and to be honest, Max had forgotten all about it.

“Oh.” The Prep apologised gracefully, but Max felt a little more than disgruntled when a few curious looks from the losers, were aimed his way.

(He didn’t notice them giving Fisher the same curious look, and Fisher deliberately ignoring them.)

“Whatever.” Max shrugged it off. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his letterman jacket and turned around to leave.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Fisher’s voice called out to him.

Max made a big show of turning around to face her. He even plastered a sleazy grin on his face for good measure. “What? Miss me already?”

“You fucking wish.” Fisher flashed a cheeky grin as slowly stepped forward. “I seem to remember someone losing a bet…?”  
  
“Oh, yeah, I remember that bet,” Max rubbed his chin, pretending to think about it. “I remember kicking your ass at that bet.” He resisted the urge to fist-pump at his victory. Then, he remembered the Awkward Moment that happened exactly  _after_  his victory and resisted thinking about it further.

(Un)fortunately, Fisher didn’t seem to be thinking about that either. She was shaking her head at him, smile widening ominously. “The bet was if you could  _take_ it out of my hands - not eat it.”

Ready to object, Max raised a finger, but then he realised.

 _Motherfu_  - she was right.

For a few moments, he just stared at her with his mouth hung open attractively. His mind searched for some counterargument, some sort of loophole that would wipe the smug smile off Fisher’s face.

He couldn’t come up with any.

“Fuck no,” he eventually said.

“Fuck yes,” Fisher said. Then, she all but dragged him to the Christmas tree. Behind him, Max could hear Julian and Co.’s jubilant cheers and even a confused, “Wait, so  _that_  was what they were doing?”

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Max was resistant as Fisher pulled him along by the wrist. He was grumbling about how putting the star up on the tree was “a stupid tradition anyway the mistletoe seemed more interesting” or some such nonsense that Fisher tried to block out. Max was usually pouty and verbose when he lost, but at least he wasn’t all silent and gloomy like he was before.

Granted, he wasn’t even flashing his trademark, insufferably smug grin (a smile that Fisher didn’t think she would miss)  _yet_ , but it was a start.

No one deserved to look so sad on Christmas. Not even Max.

“All right, Maxie.” Fisher let go of his wrist and bent over to pick up the star she had hidden under the tree. “It’s showtime.”

Max crossed his arms, turned his face away and didn’t reply.

Fisher put the star down and stared up at Max with her hands on her hips. “Max?”

No response.

FIsher tried using a serious tone. “Come  _on_ _,_  Max. We had a bet.”

No response.

Fisher tried using a teasing tone. “Maxie? Don’t tell me you’re backing now just ‘cause you’ve lost.”

No response.

Fisher took a deep breath. “Okay, I didn’t want to resort to this… but just remember that you made me do it, Max.” She moved in close to Max, looked up at him and unleashed the Puppy-dog eyes. “Help me put the star on the tree,” she said in her most convincing tone.

Max took one look at Fisher’s expectant face. Her wide, heart-melting amber eyes glimmered with hope as they stared straight into his soul.

“Nah.” Years spent living with Mia gave him immunity to that kind of look.

Fisher’s face fell. She shoved him away and stared at him as if he had grown a second head. “What is with you today?” She shook her head. “Look, I get that you’re sad and stuff, and I’m sorry about that, but Christmas is the time of the year where you can  _forget_ your troubles, even for just a day. It’s the season of giving and appreciating your friends and family - ”  
  
The word made Max bristle. “Why do you even care - ”

“Because no one deserves to be sad on Christmas, Max.”

Max stayed silent for a few seconds. “If I help you put the stupid star up, will you stop preaching about the joys of Christmas?”

Fisher offered a small smile. “Maybe, if you stop talking shit about my favorite holiday.”

“Fine, fine.” Max rolled his eyes, trying not to return the smile. Same old Fisher. “What do you want me to do?”  
  
“I need to get my legs on your shoulders,” Fisher told him confidently as she picked the star back up.

 _“What?”_   Max did a double-take. The last person to say that to him was  _Kara_ , and  _that_  request wasn’t even for cheer practice…

Fisher gave him a look. “So I can put the star up on the tree?”

“Oh. Right.” Max felt humiliation blaze in his cheeks. He shook off any untoward thoughts and squatted down to help Fisher stand on his shoulders. Although they had a rocky start (Fisher had ‘accidentally’ kicked him in the face), they were able to put the star on top of the tree in no time. Surprisingly, they worked well as a team.

“‘Kay, I’m going down now,” Fisher suddenly announced, jerking Max out of this thoughts. She hopped off his shoulders and started to fall in a supine position.

“Whoa!” Luckily, Max had enough experience hoisting cheerleaders up and catching them. Fisher fell into his arms, and he carried her princess-style as they studied the Christmas tree together. Now that the star was shining brightly on its top, it looked grander and more beautiful than ever.

A rare sense of wonderment filled Max. The day had started off rather depressingly, but now here he was, carrying his rival in a princess-style position as they watched the string of lights on the Christmas tree change from blue to green to red.

And he didn’t even feel like dropping her.

A soft smile graced Fisher’s face as she looked on the tree with amazement. For some reason, Max found that he couldn’t look away, and the feeling of wonderment within him grew.

Finally, Fisher noticed him staring. “What is it?” she asked softly, with that same expression.

“You -” For a second, words failed him. But Max wasn’t discouraged; he cleared his throat and tried again. “You… you weigh a ton. Did you eat everything on the buffet table or something?”

Fisher decked him across the face.

* * *

Hours later, the party was in full swing.

Due to Fisher’s insistence, Max had adorned a shitty Christmas-themed sweater (akin to the ones he used to own as a child; now, he was only wearing them  _ironically_ ) and a round red ball on his nose. It was the only thing that covered up the evidence of Fisher’s unfair assault on him. The girl had one hell of a right hook, which Max begrudgingly admired; it still stung a bit when he pressed on his nose, even after he had put snow on it.

Surprisingly, Max was having fun, even if the most of the company wasn’t his usual crowd. Yes, he had seen a few of his schoolmates, and some of them did dance and talk with him. Some avoided him, but that was all right. Their fear was funny and necessary, and Max had plenty of people and things to entertain himself with.

He even had a few dance-offs and bets with Fisher, and it was not horrible to spend some time with her. He had assured her, of course, that this would be a one-time thing and that he was never going near the Rebel chick again.

“But other than that, I’ve got two words for you, sweetheart.” Max grinned. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

Tradition, Max Warren found out later that night as he ended up under the mistletoe with a few someones, was not bad at all.


End file.
